


Casting snow to fall

by mybluebucketofsnow



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Coming Out, Except no Vampire Things, Getting Together, M/M, Mordelia is involved, Mutual flirting but Baz is not aware, POV First Person, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pitch Manor (Simon Snow), Snow, Supportive Daphne, Supportive Malcolm, Watford Eighth Year, magic spells, some light angst but mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybluebucketofsnow/pseuds/mybluebucketofsnow
Summary: Baz has a perfect plan. It involves Mordelia, some magic and inviting Simon Snow over for Christmas. What could possibly go wrong? Except Baz still doesn't know how to flirt, Mordelia can’t keep a secret and aunt Fiona makes a sudden appearance to make things even worse.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 29
Kudos: 105
Collections: Winter Holiday Collection 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seducing_a_vampire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seducing_a_vampire/gifts).



> Cherry scones for @waywardlesbian and @Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire for being amazing betas!

It’s a gloomy winter day and there is no snow, just mud all around me. I shiver as I watch Snow step out of the Rolls-Royce that I’d sent to pick him up from the train station. He smiles warmly at the chauffeur and waves him goodbye as if they are already best friends. Much better than him and me, because let’s face it — Snow and I are not friends at all.

He looks at my house before even looking at me and his jaw drops. I know that the Grimm-Pitch manor looks impressive — it’s all black stones and huge gloomy windows, but when Snow’s eyes meet mine I can see only disdain in them.

“You own a car with a chauffeur _and_ your mansion is that big?” He says instead of saying ‘hi’. 

My heart drops. Crowley, I don’t know what I was expecting, but this already isn’t going well. I shouldn’t have invited him over. Now he’ll hate me even more and will never agree—

I cut myself off, it’s not like I had a chance with him in the first place.

“Grow up, Snow,” I sneer at him. (Because what else can I do?) “We don’t live in medieval times. I don’t _own_ anybody. The chauffeur has been working for us for twenty years and we pay him well enough that he can feed his whole family.”

“ _Henry_ ,” Snow says, his voice accusing. “His name is Henry.”

“I bloody know what his name is!” I snap at him. Is that what he thinks of me? That I don’t even know the names of people who work here? Henry was secretly giving me sweets when I was crying in the car because I didn’t want to go back to Watford during my first year. And my nanny… I’m closer to Vera than to my real parents.

I push my hands deeper into the pockets of my jeans. The sky is grey and the wind is blowing. I was waiting for Snow to arrive for more than twenty minutes. The thin leather jacket that I currently wear felt like a grand idea when I was trying it out in front of my mirror, but now Snow obviously doesn’t look impressed and it’s so bloody cold that I’m almost shaking.

Of course, he is not impressed. Snow is one of those people who doesn’t have to care about the clothes they wear. He looks gorgeous in anything. He has wide shoulders and beautiful arms and his arse… Don’t even get me started on his arse.

But that’s beside the point, especially if I can’t even have five minutes alone with him without having a fight. _Get a grip, Baz. You should learn how to flirt better._

I force myself to look away. “Follow me,” I throw over my shoulder and lead the way into the house.

Of course, Mordelia is already waiting for us inside. She squeaks with excitement and none of my cold stares is enough to calm her down.

Snow stretches out his arm. “Simon Snow,” he introduces himself with an awkward smile.

Mordelia beams as they shake hands, “I know! The Chosen One!” She says and her eyes sparkle. I almost roll mine. She is such a fangirl over Snow, I am surprised she actually grew up in the Grimm-Pitch family. But then, who am I to judge considering my long term crush on Snow? 

“My sister Mordelia,” I say with dignity, trying to cover up the fact that Mordelia holds Snow’s hand for much longer than is possibly acceptable. Snow pretends that he doesn’t notice and smiles.

Crowley, _his smile_. Sometimes I am relieved that I am not on the receiving end of it because then I would have a meltdown. 

Other days I curse the whole world that I’m not.

“Thank you so much for visiting us! When Baz told me that the Chosen One will _actually_ come to our house on Christmas—”

I clear my throat pointedly and Mordelia stops. She gapes, “I mean thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the interview.”

 _Fake_ interview. The one I created as an excuse to invite Snow over. And then bribed Mordelia to collaborate with me. Well, I thought I would have to bribe her, but she got so excited to get to see the Chosen One _for real_ that I didn’t have to do much.

“You are so much more handsome in real life than in photos!” Mordelia says in awe.

“What photos?” Snow tries to take off his coat with one hand and Mordelia finally realizes that maybe she was holding his hand for way too long. She abruptly lets go of it and takes a step back, her cheeks turning pink.

“The ones that Baz has in—”

I step in front of Mordelia. “She just saw an old article in a newspaper,” I say quickly.

I panic. Snow definitely doesn’t have to know about the carefully picked collection of articles about him that I keep in the folder on a very top shelf of my wardrobe and that I had to show to Mordelia in order to make her agree to help me.

And when I panic I do stupid things. Like taking a step closer to Snow and reaching out for his enormous ugly red scarf. And then slowly unwrapping it from his neck. Our eyes meet and for a moment time stops. He is so close I can count all of his freckles. His ordinary blue eyes go wide and I stare at them, holding my breath.

Maybe it’s not that hopeless. Maybe my stupid plan is not as bad as it seems. I invited Snow to my house on Christmas Eve to ask him to be my boyfriend. I mean, it’s not that impossible, right?

He broke up with Wellbelove almost a month ago. And as if that wasn’t enough, the same week I accidentally heard him saying to Bunce that he doesn’t care about the gender of a person he might fall in love with.

That gave me hope, even though deep down I know that the main obstacle still remains. I mean, I am still me — his ugly annoying roommate with a nose that is too long, and big ears that I have to hide under my long hair.

 _Fall in love with._ Haha. As if.

I’m really quite pathetic when it comes to Snow. I knew his obsession with Christmas — he decorates his room in November and then talks about Christmas food nonstop for the rest of the remaining days. That’s why I thought that Christmas would be my best chance to confess my feelings. That’s how I came up with this whole plan — and why I asked Mordelia to pretend that she has to interview him for her school project and invited him over.

To my surprise, Snow agreed. Maybe he was desperate because he knew he wouldn’t be able to spend his Christmas with the Wellbeloves, I don’t know. But he agreed and now he’s here and I’m holding the ends of his red scarf and if I was a little bit bolder I could have pulled him closer, just enough to have his lips covered with mine.

Behind my back, Mordelia coughs lightly and Snow blinks. The moment between us breaks into a million pieces as I take a step back.

Slowly, Snow takes off his scarf and puts it on a rack. He takes off his boots, and his socks are striped and silly. I can’t stop staring at his feet.

Mordelia taps me on my elbow. “Baz,” she says, “Are you okay?”

I shoot her a glare. As eager as Mordelia was to meet Snow she still demanded an explanation on why I had to invite him over. Maybe she was suspecting that I was planning to kill him. I had no choice but to tell her the truth — not the whole truth, of course, (I still had to save some remains of my dignity) — but at least the part where I was planning to ask Snow to be my boyfriend. So, she shouldn’t ask me if I am okay _now_ , because obviously, I’m not.

I look back at Snow. It’s so surreal to have him in here. He stands there in astonishment gaping at the large hall around him. Or maybe just pointedly avoiding looking at me. Suddenly I feel very self-conscious. Do my jeans fit well? I spent half of the morning picking them out and another half trying to make my hair look more or less decent. 

Which was ridiculous. As if Snow would ever care to notice.

I head towards the stairs, hearing Snow’s light steps behind my back. Having him in my house distresses me in so many ways. Now I don’t think that showing him the real me was such a great idea. So far he despises me even more.

We arrive in my room and Snow looks around as if he is in the cave of a wild animal. First thing first, he gapes at my bed (probably because it's draped and has gargoyles carved into its trim, _not_ because he is interested in that piece of furniture in some other _intimate_ way — honestly, sometimes my mind just spirals into the most ridiculous direction).

I point at the spot near the window, where I have put three chairs beforehand. (We can’t really sit on my bed, can we?) Snow carefully sits down on the edge of his chair while Mordelia nervously opens her red notebook. 

“What is your favourite food?” She asks after confirming that Snow’s surname is Salisbury and that he is indeed studying at Watford. It’s too late, but I realize that I probably shouldn't have let a ten-year-old come up with interview questions.

Opposite to my expectations though, Snow immediately brightens up. Apparently, I forgot that he and Mordelia are basically on the same intellectual level.

“Cherry scones,” he says, the tip of his tongue slides out of his mouth and he licks his upper lip (I almost die on the spot), “with melted butter.”

“Oh!” Mordelia says with a surprise turning my way, “Is that why you asked Vera to bake them?”

Snow’s eyes go wide. “No,” I say sternly, and Mordelia giggles. “Of course not. It’s just a coincidence.” It’s much easier to pretend that I don’t care about Snow then trying to show that I do.

I slightly kick the leg of Mordelia’s chair. “Do you have anything else to ask Simon?”

“Right,” she says, while I silently try to digest the fact that I’ve just called Snow by his given name. He shoots me a surprised stare too, as if I need his reminder that I’m not allowed to do that.

“What is your favourite colour?” Mordelia asks after a pause. I roll my eyes. Crowley, is she coming up with her questions on the spot? But then again, what else can you expect from a ten-year-old child?

I feel Snow’s eyes going my way. “Grey,” he says without hesitation. 

Bloody hell. _What?_

“I thought your favourite colour was brown,” I say. (That’s the colour of Agatha’s eyes.)

“No,” Snow says and his hot gaze continues to burn me. “I always liked grey.”

“Wow,” Mordelia says, and then, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

I urgently gasp for air.

“Give me that list!” I try to snatch away Mordelia’s notebook, but she is quick enough to hide it under her arm. It’s beyond my dignity to fight with a ten-year-old, so I let it go. If Mordelia wants to embarrass herself with her stupid questions, it’s not my call to stop her.

“No girlfriend,” Snow says, then he looks down. “And no boyfriend.”

 _Boyfriend?_ I feel the blood rushing to my face. Is Snow saying what I think he’s saying?

Thank snakes, Mordelia doesn’t push any further. “This is so cute!” She smiles at Snow and says quietly, “I hope you find someone great.”

“I hope so too. But not much luck yet,” he mumbles, without looking my way. Now we are both blushing, though, I assume, for very different reasons. Me — because the possibility of Snow dating blokes gives me a rush of adrenaline, him — well, probably because he just came out in front of his worst enemy and a ten-year-old girl.

After that, Mordelia proceeds with a few more simple questions, like what Snow’s favourite movie is (‘The Addams Family’ and ‘The Star Wars’) and what his favourite book is (even though everyone knows that Snow doesn’t read, _ever_ ). When she asks what Snow's shoe size is, I understand that the interview has come to a dead end and try to save us all by sending Mordelia to fetch us some scones and tea.

Snow and I stay alone in the empty room. Suddenly I am very aware of how close our chairs are. I could slightly move my leg and bump his knee with mine, if we were in _that_ kind of relationship. Unfortunately, we aren’t. I barely know how to talk to him without getting into a fight. 

The silence gets almost unbearable. This is bloody ridiculous. We stayed in the same space before. We shared the same bloody room at Watford for years.

But now it feels different. Snow’s eyes linger over my bed again and I desperately try to think of a way I can flirt with him, but so far I don’t even have the slightest idea of how to break the silence.

“Your bed… Your bed is really big,” Snow says first, “Do you really sleep inside all those drapes?”

There is no mockery in his words. More like concern and care for my well being. But it still rubs me the wrong way. Maybe because I just can’t stand Snow talking about my bed so casually.

“No, Snow, I sleep on a couch in the living room,” I snap at him. Crowley, why am I so bad at this?

_Flirt, Baz. You need to flirt._

“Um, thank you for helping my sister with the interview,” I say finally.

Snow smiles. This is one of his smiles that are more polite than sunny, but it still almost charms my pants off. “She is so cute,” He stops, then his cheeks go a bit pink, “Very similar to you.”

I clench my hand tight around the edge of the chair. “Do you imply that I behave like a ten years old girl?”

Snow full-on grins now, “Half of the time — yes,” he says and it’s really hard to stay angry at him when he looks that way, “the other half, you act like a grumpy old man.”

I look down, my face dark. If that’s really how Snow sees me I don’t have much chance. “At least I’m not a full-time numpty,” I mumble under my nose.

_Shut up, Baz! You can do better than that!_

“Will you stay for dinner?”

“Dinner?” Snow repeats slowly. I know he can’t resist dinner. That is my evil plan, to ask him to stay and make him miss the last train back. “Won’t your family mind?”

“They won’t,” I say quickly.

“How do you know?” Snow asks suspiciously.

I feel my cheeks flush, “I’ve already asked,” I confess.

That’s true. Father raised his eyebrow (he probably thought that it was part of my evil plan to trap Snow and hurt him), while my stepmother just smiled politely and nodded.

You see, we don’t talk too much in my family. That’s just how the Grimm-Pitches are.

“Look, I have to thank you for helping my sister, alright?” I snap at Snow before he has a chance to refuse.

“But—” He starts, “I thought you—” Not for the first time his spluttering comes handy — before Snow has a chance to come up with an excuse, Mordelia finally comes back pushing a small tray trolley with a teapot and a dish of scones. 

I use it as a chance to finally bump his knee with mine, “Just shut up and eat, okay?”

Snow stays silent, which I think is a good sign. At least he hasn’t moved away from me.

Mordelia gives us a strict stare, “Vera said that we can only eat two each before the dinner,” she passes Snow a plate with two scones and a cup.

I see how disappointed Snow looks. I know for sure that he is perfectly capable of eating twice as much and still being hungry.

“Here,” I say and push my scones on his plate. “I’m not hungry.” He gives me a startled look which is half gratitude, half surprise.

As if I can’t ever be nice.

“Eat carefully. I don’t want to have your crumbs on my carpet,” I scowl at him.

“Baz always says that,” Mordelia grins as she exchanges a knowing look with Snow. Crowley, are they teaming up against me already?

“You’re not so strict when you eat the crisps in your bed at Watford, are you?” Simon moves closer and his hot breath brushes my ear. I almost choke on my tea.

He leans back in satisfaction, winking at Mordelia while I wipe the remaining of the tea from my chin. Bloody hell. This Christmas with Simon Snow will be the end of me.

After that, Mordelia asks a few more questions. She probably came up with those while she was running to the kitchen and back because they are all food-related and Snow is very pleased to answer that yes, he likes roast beef and potato leek soup very much.

“Then you should definitely stay for dinner!” Mordelia states — the good girl that she is.

“But—” Snow starts again.

“No 'but'! You’ve already agreed.” I bump his knee again. (Is it flirting? I hope it’s flirting.)

For a few moments Snow freezes, then he bumps my knee back. I feel my palms sweat. “Okay,” he says.

“Wonderful!” Mordelia brightens up, while I try to gather my wits. Crowley, I am pathetic — one touch of Snow’s knee is enough to send me into a coma for ages.

A half an hour later we go for dinner. I have to give Snow a reassuring smile because he suddenly looks very nervous and stiff. I can understand that. For him, stepping into one of my family’s dinners should be the same as stepping into the enemy's territory in the middle of the war.

But it should be fine, right? That’s what I’m thinking before I freeze in the doorframe. Aunt Fiona is sitting inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Fiona grins at me but then she looks at Snow and her face immediately turns cold.

I step forward. “Why are you here?” I ask, trying to push down a foreboding feeling. Fiona never comes for Christmas. She despises family holidays, considering Christmas the worst among all of them. Usually, she stays in London and throws some kind of a rock party with her artsy hip friends.

“I heard that we have a special guest tonight,” she says, her voice dangerously even, “I thought I would drop by and check why the Chosen One decided to give us this honour.”

“How on earth—” I start, then give Mordelia a murderous stare.

“What?” She asks innocently, shrugging back at me, “I thought Aunt Fiona would be happy to meet Simon as well!”

“Indeed, I am dying from happiness,” Fiona says drily, crossing her arms. “I’m not as careless as to leave my family alone with the Mage’s Heir.”

I look at Snow. He is flushed red and he is breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists. He doesn’t say a word, just stubbornly stares down into the floor.

I put my hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Snow shudders under my touch but still doesn’t look my way.

“He is my guest,” I say firmly and glare at Fiona. I won’t let my aunt ruin it for me. Not _this_ time.

I push Snow forward. “And it was me who invited him to have dinner with us.”

“Splendid!” Daphne says from the other end of the table, giving Snow her sweetest smile, “Basil’s friends are always welcome. Now, why don’t we all enjoy our dinner?”

“Friends?” Fiona asks lazily, “Basil, since when are you friends with the Chosen One?”

I try my best to ignore her irony. “We are classmates,” I throw over my shoulder.

_And if you keep behaving this way we’ll never be more than that._

I drag Snow to the opposite corner of our table, as far from Fiona as possible. We sit down and Snow shifts uncomfortably, looking helplessly at the row of forks near his plate. 

I’m not oblivious enough to believe that my aunt will give up so easily. But I decide to try my best to postpone this disaster for as long as I can. Preferably by keeping Snow’s attention focused on me.

“Just take the biggest fork. It doesn’t matter.” I lean in and say quietly into his ear. He shivers again and then gives me a small grateful nod.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a whole system behind this?” he whispers back and his question gives me a chance to linger near his ear for a little bit longer. I inhale. Crowley, he smells so bloody good.

“You are my guest. I want you to enjoy yourself, not stress over the right cutlery. Believe me, nobody cares.”

I sit back observing Snow's reaction with the corner of my eyes. His cheeks turn slightly pink, the colour spreading over his neck, and I can see one of his hands nervously brushing his thigh.

Fiona eyes us suspiciously. “So how is the Mage doing?” She asks when the first dish arrives. “Thinking of a new set of limitations for the Old Families? I have an idea. How about…” She taps her chin with her finger, “Cancelling the Christmas tree as a dangerous Magickal object?”

Beside me, Snow reaches for his glass of water and takes a few shaky gulps.

“Never thought you would care about Christmas trees,” I throw at Fiona through my clenched teeth.

“You wouldn’t believe all the things I care about.” Fiona narrows her eyes, “The safety of my family included.”

My father clears his throat and Daphne immediately gives everyone another bright smile. “I am so happy to have you all here!” she says and then shifts her gaze to Snow and me, “Boys, you look wonderful! Mr. Snow, this jacket suits you just fine.”

We both know it’s a lie. Because it’s _my_ jacket. And it sits too tight on his broad shoulders. (Snow didn’t allow me to cast it bigger. Apparently, he is still bloody afraid of my magic.)

“Thank you, Mother,” I say politely, “And you can just call him Simon.”

“ _You_ don’t call me Simon,” Snow mumbles. I ignore him. We are not close enough for me to call him _anything_.

“I would still prefer to call him Mage’s Heir,” Fiona chips in just to be difficult.

“Fiona, dear, why haven’t you brought your boyfriend with you?” Daphne asks innocently and I almost choke on my food.

Fiona inhales sharply, her nostrils flaring. Even from the distance, I can feel how angry she is. One doesn't ask Fiona about her love life unless one wants a quick and unavoidable death. She’s been on and off with her boyfriend Nico for the last five years. None of us can really track their relationship. At least I gave up trying a long time ago.

“He is busy in London,” Fiona snaps, “and he is _not_ my boyfriend.” I almost roll my eyes. Fiona always says that. And I always pretend that I believe her.

“Young people these days!” Daphne sighs, somehow looking not at Fiona, but between me and Snow, “They never know what their heart wants.”

Fiona clenches her fist around her fork and forcefully pushes it into her stake. Snow goes slightly pale after that while Daphne sips her drink, hiding her grin behind a glass.

“Well,” she says, “I recall in my days...”

What follows next is a very long and boring story of how she met my father in the opera house.

It goes on and on, while Snow quietly vacuums up one dish after another. Fiona stabs her steak a few more times. Father finishes his second glass of wine. I gradually relax. Maybe, just _maybe_ this evening might not turn out to be a total disaster.

But then Fiona bares her teeth and looks up from her plate.

“So, Chosen One,” she says the moment Daphne pauses, “What was the last magickal creature that you killed by the Mage’s order?”

Snow looks startled and I really want to squeeze his hand under the table. (Unfortunately, I can’t because I can’t allow myself to be punched in the middle of the Christmas dinner).

“It was a goblin,” Snow replies shortly. “He was a taxi-driver. Wanted to kill me. So it was self-protection.”

Fiona gives him a predatory grin, “I heard you’ve almost killed a dragon,” she says.

“No, he didn’t,” I shoot Fiona a daggered stare.

“Oh really?” Fiona raises her eyebrow pointedly, “I wonder, after that did your daddy get angry with you?”

Snow jumps up. His chair makes a dreadful sound, “He is not… I am not… I am an orphan!” He clenches his fists, his face turning red.

“Simon—” I catch his hand in mine. (I don’t care anymore if I’ll end up being punched.) Snow shakes it off.

Fiona smirks, “If Davy is not your father then why do you follow his every order? Are you his lackey?”

I see how Snow’s face breaks. It’s painful to watch. For a moment I think he’ll cast his sword and cut the table in half.

He turns away instead, “Excuse me,” he says quietly. I try to catch his hand again, but he just shakes his head quietly. “Really… I should go,” he doesn’t look like himself. He looks defeated. And before I have a chance to say something he leaves without looking back.

The room falls in silence. “Simon!” I shout at his back. I want to follow him, but Fiona blocks my way.

“Let him go,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder.

I shake it away and give her a glare. “It’s cold outside,” I say, “And it’s dark.”

“Basil, snap out of it! He’s the Chosen One. He can protect himself.”

“No, he can’t! His magic is shit and he always gets into trouble.”

“Why do you care?” Fiona narrows her eyes.

“Because...” I look around the table, at wide-eyed Mordelia, at Daphne and finally at my father, “Because I like him!” I almost shout. At this moment I don’t even care.

“What?!” Fiona takes a step back, her face shocked. “You like the Mage’s Heir?”

I nod, then I look at my Father. He slowly stands up from his chair. I involuntarily hold my breath.

“Son,” he says, his voice even, “Is that true?”

I look right in his eyes. They are grey and cold, the same as mine. “Yes, Father,” I say firmly.

I take a deep breath in. Here, I said it. I finally said it and there’s nothing holding me back anymore.

I tilt my chin up, “Yes, he is the Chosen One! And, yes, he is a bloke!” 

I look at my father with a challenge, but he cuts me off with one movement of his hand.

“At least you finally met somebody,” he sighs. He sits down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Daphne squeezes his hand and pours him another glass of wine.

“You don’t mind?” I breathe out confused.

“You are almost nineteen,” he says, “I was worried. I thought it would never happen.”

“What do you mean ‘you thought it would never happen’?” I ask, my voice small. 

My father shrugs lightly, “We, mages that is, should bond early in life. I met your mother when I was sixteen.”

I look at my Father wide-eyed, “You don’t care that Snow’s a bloke?” I ask one more time, just to be sure.

“As long as you are happy, Son. You need a partner. You’re too strong of a magician to be alone.”

I swallow, my heart beating fast.

“You look perfect together!” Daphne chirps, smiling my way.

I feel my cheeks flush, “We are not dating yet!” I snap, “And thanks to Fiona, we probably never will.”

“I didn’t know you fancied the Chosen One!” Fiona says defensively. She pours herself a glass of scotch and drinks it in one go, “Actually… Actually, it makes perfect sense. The way he looks at you...”

I do my best to ignore her words completely. The recent events were the best proof that her opinion cannot be trusted.

“He’s always hated me,” I growl through my clenched teeth. “And now he probably hates me even more.”

Fiona stands up. She slams her glass down on the table. “Go get him! Are you a Pitch or not?”

“And a Grimm,” Malcolm adds. “You’ve got this, Son.”

I shake my head at both of them, “This will never work out.”

Fiona scowls me, “Do you think it was easy for me and Nico? But we fought for our happiness through all these years and we are still together!”

“Are you though?” I ask tartly, “I thought you said he’s not your boyfriend.”

“He is not!” Fiona barks, “He is my fucking fiance! Here, you see?” He lifts up her left hand and I notice a ring on her finger.

“Oh my God!” Daphne gasps, “Fiona, congratulations!”

“I’m still not sure if it’s a good thing,” Fiona says crossly, then she glares at me, “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, why are you still here?! Go get your boyfriend!”

I stare at her. Fiona is right. I can’t give up that easily. Not when he’s the only thing I really want. The Golden Boy. The Chosen One.

 _My_ Simon.

I take a shaky breath in and nod.

***

When I run outside it’s cold. The wind blows and I wrap a scarf a few times around my neck.

It’s not hard to trace Snow’s steps with a simple spell. It’s much harder to figure out what to do next. I have no idea how to be brave when it comes to Snow. He is the brave one between the two of us. And I’m just… I’m just a shadow in the best days.

At least he didn’t go towards the railway station. Thank snakes. I follow his steps through our garden to a small gazebo hidden under the cherry trees.

There are no walls and I can see perfectly well a dark figure sitting inside.

“Snow!” I call, my fingers squeezing a wand inside of my pocket. This is not how I imagined this evening to go. I thought I would invite Snow outside after dinner to surprise him with a special spell. The one that I’ve been practising through the last weeks. I foolishly hoped Snow would be impressed enough to agree— 

He stands up, glaring at me. “Go away,” he says grumpily.

“Look, Snow—” I start.

“Is this how you see me too?” he asks and when the moon goes out from the clouds I can see perfectly well how distorted his face is, “Only as the Mage’s Heir?”

“You _are_ the Mage’s Heir,” I say helplessly.

_But you are so much more for me._

I almost choke on those words. I can’t say them out loud. I just give him a helpless stare.

“Go! Away!” He repeats, his voice going higher.

I feel sick. I feel like shouting myself. But I have only this one chance left. I take out my wand. My hand slightly shakes. I hope it's still not too late to cast a spell and impress him with it.

But the moment Snow sees my wand his eyes go wide and he jumps aside, immediately casting a sword in his hands. His body tenses and he looks at me like I am just another monster that the Mage ordered him to kill.

“Put your wand down,” he hisses, holding his sword high.

It hurts. It physically hurts to know that he doesn’t trust me even a little bit. I try to hide my pain behind the irony.

“Really, Snow?” I smirk at him. “We both know that I am faster than you.”

“I said, put your wand down!” he growls, swinging his sword.

Maybe I would have been satisfied fighting him before. But not now. Now I want so much more.

“Don’t be stupid,” I say as calmly as I can, trying to carefully go around him. “This is not why I invited you here.”

He snorts. “As if. You thought I wouldn’t guess what your plan is?”

My hand shakes slightly, “What plan?”

_Crowley, could it be that Snow already knows?_

“Obviously you want to cast an evil spell on me!” He follows me around in a circle, keeping his sword between two of us. “It’s just how the Mage told me.”

“Idiot,” I say, trying to hold his gaze, “that is not why.”

“Then what about your evil aunt? Isn’t she here to help you cover things up?”

Snow eyes follow me, as we move in a circle. But however careful he is, I still know this garden better. I have been playing here since I was two years old. Another step and Snow trips on the root of an old cherry tree, falling behind. He makes a few helpless moves with his arms before landing on his butt.

I use this short moment of his confusion to point my wand into a sky and cast a spell.

 **_“Oh, the weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful. Since we've no place to go. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”_ **This sounds bloody stupid, but since it’s based on the pop song it’s the only spell powerful enough to change the weather.

It goes up into a sky with a loud blister, so bright that it illuminates the whole garden. For a brief moment, I can see Snow’s shocked face. He pushes himself, sitting up and stars into a night sky.

Around us, the snowflakes start to fall. They are big and fluffy and before touching the ground they do a perfect symmetrical dance in the sky.

“What the hell?” Snow asks, his voice a mixture of disbelief and awe. “ _This_ is the spell that you wanted to cast?”

One of the snowflakes lands on my nose and I brush it off with annoyance. This was supposed to be a perfect moment. _Our_ perfect moment. I thought I would take Snow’s hands in mine and finally ask him out. In a proper way. 

And then maybe I’d kiss him. Or he’d kiss me. (Though I never let my thoughts go that far.)

But none of that matters anymore. “It’s just a stupid spell,” I shrug. I have no intention of confessing _now_. Not after I’ve realized that Snow doesn’t trust me even a little bit. But then again, why should he? He never did and he never will.

We stay in silence, while snow slowly covers ground and trees as a thin white blanket. I come closer and stretch my hand to help him up.

He stares at my hand, then looks back at me. “I thought weather-spells were impossibly hard,” he says in disbelief.

I ignore him. They are damn hard, but I was saving my magic almost for a month while searching for a perfect spell. The one that would be powerful enough to make snow fall. Penny was the one who gave me a hint to look at Normal's Christmas pop songs. Even though she probably never knew what exactly I’d use this spell for.

“It’s just a spell,” I repeat. My hand still stretched towards Snow. “I’m good with spells.”

Finally, Snow carefully grabs my hand and I pull him up. Even though it’s cold, his hand is still warmer than mine. For a brief second, I let myself linger into his touch. But once he is steady on his fit I force myself to let go.

Snow looks around as if my spell left him enchanted.

“It’s so beautiful,” he says. He stretches his arms trying to catch snowflakes with the tips of his fingers. He smiles into a night sky and I stare at him like a fool I am.

It would have been a perfect moment. _If only._

I turn away.

I have to shake it off. I have to shake off this stupid dream about having Simon Snow as my boyfriend. Because it would never happen. There is too much history of mutual distrust between us.

“Let’s go back,” I say stiffly and turn around. But before I take even one step further something hits my back. Something hard and soft at the same time.

“What—” I turn around, but another snowball goes right into my face. I end up with my mouth full of snow.

“Not so fast,” Snow says, “You might be better with spells, but I am so much better with this.”

He makes one more snowball, but this time I am quick enough to dodge.

_What is happening?_

I don’t have time to ask. I hurriedly make a snowball and throw it in Snow’s direction. Of course, I miss him, but the grin on his face is rewarding enough as it is.

Snow was right. He is really good. Before I grab more snow, another snowball hits me, and another. This is so silly. And stupid. And the most fun I ever had without using my magic.

I make a few false movements and before Snow has a chance to react I push him down, losing my own balance in between. We both land on the ground, covered in soft snow.

“Giving up?” I ask, pining his hands over his head.

“Never!” He rolls over and I find myself under him.

He breathes hard, his face is so close to mine that I feel his every breath. We stare at one another, his eyes deep and intense. If he would lean a little bit more our lips would brush for sure.

My heart pounds fast and between it’s every beat I can feel my own doubts. My own insecurities. I remember how Snow looked at me when he thought I’m just one of the monsters that the Mage orders him to kill.

I turn my face away.

I can’t let myself believe and then get disappointed once again.

“Let me go,” I say into the darkness. Because I am a fool. And a coward.

Snow loosens his grip and moves away. I sit down. The moment that we had drips through my fingers like melted snow.

Maybe there was nothing at all.

“It’s getting cold,” I say without looking his way, “Let’s go inside.”


	3. Chapter 3

Snow follows me back inside the house. The old stairs creak under our feet as we make our way to the second floor. I give Snow a few quick glances — he appears lost and as if it was me who has taken something away from him and hasn't given it back.

“Here,” I open the door to one of the guest rooms and make an inviting gesture inside. Snow hesitates near the open door for a brief moment, enough for me to notice and have a short sting of anger. 

“It’s just a guest room, not a trap,” I snap at him. I am so done with him thinking I’m a monster over and over again. I step inside, avoiding looking his way. I don’t need another example of him not trusting me.

This room is smaller than mine, but at least it doesn’t have an enormous bed with drapes and gargoyles. Snow doesn’t look very happy though.

“I can’t stay in here,” he says, crossing his arms. 

I frown, “Sorry to disappoint you, Snow, but we are not a five-star hotel. This is as good as it gets.”

“It’s not that. It’s just… Old houses freak me out.” He swallows. “Can I sleep in your room?”

I take a sharp breath in. Bloody hell. Having Snow in my room would be the end of me. 

“No.” I say, “Definitely _not_.”

Snow takes a step closer, “ _Please._ ”

I pinch my lips into a thin line. 

“Are you afraid of my aunt?” I ask drily. That might be the only reasonable explanation of why on earth Snow decided that sleeping in my room might be a grand idea.

Snow’s eyes go wide. “Should I be?” He asks cautiously. 

It would be better for him to avoid Fiona but for whole other reasons. Now that she knows that I have a crush on him… It’s better not to think about what kind of plots Fiona might come up with to set us up together or about how useless they would be.

I lean against the wall and sigh, “Not anymore,” I say, trying to be as vague as possible. “She just has a few bad ideas about you.”

“Like the fact that I’m the Mage’s Heir?” Snow asks mockingly, but there is a hint of dull pain in his voice.

I look right into his eyes. I can’t deny that he is the Mage's Heir. But it’s not about denial, is it? 

“You are… _You_.” I say finally after a pause. Brave, kind and loyal to the fault. Too bloody handsome for his own good. 

Some of those thoughts must have shown in my eyes because Snow slowly blinks in surprise. 

Then he gives me a half-smile, that makes my heart shutter. “Does it mean that I’m allowed to sleep in your room?”

Sneaky bastard. I push my hands deeper into my pockets trying to look nonchalant.

“I have only one bed. So, you’d have to sleep on the floor.”

Snow nods, his cheeks turning slightly pink, “Sure.”

***

He ends up sleeping in my bed. Call me sentimental, but I can’t let the Chosen One sleep on the cold floor. My only consolation is the fact that my bed is big enough to comfortably fit two of us without touching at all.

Still, when Snow climbs in wearing my silky pyjamas I can barely breathe. Just in case, I hide my chin deep under my blanket.

“Thank you for letting me sleep here.”

The drape that he just lifted falls back down again and we end up in the complete darkness. But even though I can’t see him I can feel his presence with every cell of my body.

“It’s too cold to sleep on the floor,” I say defensively. 

“You could have spelled me warm,” Snow says pointedly.

I sigh with annoyance, “Sure,” I say, “It’s not too late. Get out.”

He chuckles somewhere there in the darkness. A sound that makes my silly heart flutter. “Do you always have to be so difficult?”

“Do you always have to be so annoying?” I return back.

I can hear him tossing under his blanket. It was a hard day and my aunt hasn't exactly made it easier for both of us.

“Fiona is not always that bad,” I say apologetically, “She is just going through some issues with her fiance and... after my Mum’s death she somehow imagines that she has to protect me.”

“It’s okay,” Snow says, “If I had a family, I’d want to protect them as well.”

The way Snow says ‘family’ makes my heart shrink. I forget too bloody often how lonely he really is.

I clear my throat, “Mordelia really liked you.”

Crowley. That sounded really stupid. I bet Snow doesn’t care one bit about the feelings of _my_ family members.

“And what about you?” he asks so quietly that I almost can’t hear him.

“Excuse me?” I say startled.

“I mean—” He takes a deep breath in, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have threatened you with my sword. I’m such a wanker.”

I turn to face his side. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can almost see the lines of his face. “Were you afraid of me?” I ask carefully.

“No! I was just disappointed… And angry. But when you cast your spell. Suddenly… It all felt like a fairytale.”

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

“I didn’t know _you_ were.”

What the hell? My heart skips a few beats. Is Snow bloody flirting with me? I shift closer to the centre of the bed.

“There are a _lot_ of things that you don’t know about me,” I say arrogantly. The biggest secret included.

“I know that you hide salt and vinegar chips under your bed.”

I feel my cheeks hitting up, “Shut up.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

As if he even _has_ to ask.

“I believe you don’t need me as another member of the Chosen One fan-club,” I squeeze out. I hate how my own voice sounds.

At least he doesn’t deny what I’ve just said. We lay like that for a few more long minutes. When he turns my way I realise too bloody late how close he is. Wasn’t my bed supposed to be a king-size? Why is there suddenly so little distance between us?

“I didn’t know you were so bad at throwing snowballs.” Snow says and based on the sound of his voice I can tell there is a grin on his face.

“Excuse me, I didn’t exactly have a bunch of friends around here.” I try to hide a small sting of pain with irony.

“I didn’t have a bunch of friends either,” he says slowly as if making a confession. “They were just some kids from the care homes. We were too busy trying to survive to make friends.”

My breath hitches. I want to comfort him, but I don’t know what to say. Carefully, I stretch my arm a little bit more and the tips of our fingers touch under the blanket. His skin is warm and he doesn’t move his hand away.

“Do you miss spending Christmas with Wellbelove?” I ask quietly. It’s not the question that I really want to ask, but it’s as close as I can get.

Snow stays silent for a few moments. “Her family was always nice to me. It was comfortable. And safe. But maybe I was mistaking whatever we had for love.”

He makes a movement, interlacing his fingers with mine. I close my eyes, feeling only the warmth of his touch. Dwelling on it. I never thought that Snow would hold my hand _willingly_. And that it would feel so bloody good. I lay still, listening to the thumps of my heart and counting down the passing seconds inside of my head. He would let go, he would let go _now_ , for sure. But he doesn’t. Instead, he moves his thumb stroking my skin a few times and I almost gasp.

“Today,” he says, “was actually pretty amazing.”

“You mean my aunt insulting you or us having a fight?”

He snorts. There must be something wrong with me because I find even that adorable. “I loved spending time with you.”

I look at Snow wide-eyed. Is he in his right mind?

“You see me every day at Watford,” I say helplessly just to hide my confusion or how flustered I am.

“Not like this.”

“Like what?”

“We are not fighting.”

“We _were_ fighting,” I say my voice hoarse.

“And then we weren’t.”

He moves a little bit closer, still squeezing my hand. His warm breath on my cheek reminds me how we almost kissed back then in the garden. Or was it only the blink of my imagination?

“I guess I just can’t fall asleep without having you around.” He leans in and I can feel his nose rubbing my cheek.

What does this even mean?

“Good night, Baz,” he says quietly before going to sleep.

***

I wake up all warm and fuzzy with a ray of sunlight shining across my face. I blink uncomfortably, trying to shift away, only to find that Snow is wrapped all around me like an octopus.

I lay still while urgently processing the fact that yes, me and Snow are in the same bed and somehow he ended up cuddling me. And yesterday… Yesterday he held my hand before going to sleep.

And now his warm breath is on my neck, his hand is on my abdomen and one of his legs is between mine. Crowley, what kind of a Christmas miracle is that?

I hold my breath, while Snow shifts slightly behind me, his grip on my waist getting tighter.

“Good morning,” he says softly into my ear.

My heart skips a beat. Is he awake? Is he aware that he is talking to _me_? Is he aware that he is holding _me_ in his arms? I wait a few long moments for him to come to his senses and push me away.

But he doesn’t, instead his hand makes a few circles rubbing my stomach. “Baz,” he says, “are you alright? Stop pretending that you are asleep.”

“Not pretending,” I say, grumpy. I don’t move though.

Snow softly blows into my ear, “Then why are your eyes closed?”

_Because I’m afraid that once I’d open them everything would go away._

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” I say my voice hoarse.

“Merry Christmas, Baz.”

The way he says my name makes me breathless. It’s quiet and tender and enough for me to melt into his embrace.

Snow rubs his nose over my neck and I try not to think about other parts of him that are currently rubbing against me. It all feels so wrong, but at the same time so _right_.

“I have a present for you,” I say urgently trying to distract myself from whatever dirty thoughts my mind is thinking. I push from his arms despite his protesting growl.

Too late, I realize that present was a part of my original plan, where I hoped that by morning Snow and me would be… something more than just long term enemies.

“A present?” Snow sits up, his hand still around my waist. “Where?” He looks around like a sleepy lost puppy and I give him a half-grin.

“Under the bed,” I say. And then, “Wait!” When Snow hops off to look under it. He emerges back with two packages wrapped in craft paper in his hands.

“Is it… for me?” He asks, his eyes wide.

“One is for you and one is for me,” I reply trying to look away. How embarrassing. Snow wasn’t supposed to know that I prepared a couple present for both of us.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice very low. He blinks a few times and I can swear I could see tears in his eyes.

“Come on, open it,” I nudge him with my elbow.

Snow rips the paper off and pulls out some sweets and a blue sweater. It’s the same colour as his eyes. Or at least it’s supposed to be.

“Merry Christmas,” I repeat again like an idiot. Snow looks down, his hands sliding over the soft fabric.

“What’s in yours?” He asks without looking my way.

I slowly pull out the same sweater only a size smaller.

“They’re the same!” Snow states out the obvious truth and I sigh. I wonder if I can lie my way out of it. We stare at one another for a few moments in silence.

“Look, Snow—” I start at the same time as he says,

“I like you!”

“...they were together on sale...” I continue helplessly, and then, “What?!”

“Sale?” he repeats looking directly at me, his eyes bright and huge. “You never buy things on sale.”

“Of course I don’t! These are from a new collection.”

I have no bloody idea what I am talking about.

“Wait… What?” Snow asks, confused.

I put my hands on his waist and pull him closer, face to face with me.

“Can you repeat what you have just said?” I ask carefully just to be sure. Snow bites on his lower lip. Only then I notice how nervous he really is.

“I like you, Baz,” he repeats and there is no way that I misheard it this time.

I always knew I was a coward and that Snow was the brave one. I frown desperately, still unable to believe this to be true. “That can’t be right!”

Snow twitches in my arms a shadow running over his eyes, “Nevermind then,” he says, looking down. 

“No, Simon! I mean—” I close my eyes shut for a few seconds, when I open them again I see Snow looking in the window amazed.

“Baz, look!” He exclaims and I follow his gaze. Outside the snow is falling down. Not a magickal one this time. A real one — white and fluffy. I blink a few times in surprise. Can it be a sign? Does it mean that I can get a second chance after all?

I look back at Snow and blurt out in one breath, “I want you to be my boyfriend!” I almost choke on the last word. It’s still hard to say it out loud. “That’s why I invited you here, to ask you.”

Snow freezes, his mouth half-open. His eye’s focus on me, “I agree,” he says quickly without looking away. It’s almost like he doesn’t have to think at all.

We stare at one another for a few long moments. Only then, I realise that I am still holding his waist and even worse, that he’s almost on top of me. In fact, he is so close that I can barely breathe.

“Baz,” he says, “I’m going to kiss you now.” 

I nod and he shifts a little bit, his lips covering mine. They are so warm and soft. He opens his mouth slightly letting our tongues meet together. I gasp. All of my guards that I spent so long building around myself fall down in one beautiful motion. 

The Chosen One, the Mage’s Heir, the boy I love — Simon Snow is kissing me. I dwell on the magic of finally having him here in my arms. It is warm and beautiful and perfect.

If this is how it feels to kiss Simon Snow then I never want to stop.

And I don’t. We keep kissing and kissing until my mouth almost hurts. And even then I am reluctant to let him go. Finally, he pulls me on the pillow, cuddling me under the blankets.

We lay down together looking out the window, where outside the perfect white snow keeps falling down.


End file.
